


Practically a Matchmaker

by fennecfawkes



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Young Avengers
Genre: Clint Barton: Human Disaster, Excessive Banter, F/F, Fluff, Get Together, Ill-Conceived Double Dates, Kate Bishop & Clint Barton Friendship, M/M, Multi-Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-19
Updated: 2014-09-13
Packaged: 2018-02-13 19:09:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 13,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2161839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fennecfawkes/pseuds/fennecfawkes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Changing Clint Barton's relationship status is just one of the services Kate Bishop offers.</p><p>Set after Hawkeye #9, with allusions to the Gillen/Mckelvie Young Avengers run and Marvel's Agents of SHIELD. Think of it as a fusion, like a banh mi taco or the southwestern egg rolls at Chili's.</p><p>Not my characters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Kate the Wingman

Kate doesn’t knock, because she never knocks, and when she opens the door she thinks for a second that her brain’s on the blink because this can’t possibly be the right apartment, not when it’s this tidy, so few empty bottles on the counter and dirty dishes in the sink, an honest-to-God _area rug_ spread across the typically bare floors. But no, there’s Clint, and he’s at the kitchen table—and Kate can’t remember the last time she’s seen it mostly bare, and she’s definitely never seen placemats or napkins on it, and is Clint seriously _drinking out of a mug?_ —and there’s a man in a suit and Clint’s looking at him like he never looks at anyone. Not Jessica, not Bobbi, certainly not Kate, not that Kate minds because, ew, it’s Clint, she would _never._

This suit, though.

America was probably right, though Kate would never tell her so, when she questioned Kate’s straight-as-an-arrow (heh, arrows) status, but Kate’s certainly straight enough to see that this guy’s good-looking. Maybe not in a “do a double take in the street because you don’t see beauty like that in Bed-Stuy” kind of way, but definitely in a “this man is a walking advertisement for Brooks Brothers” kind of way. He’s about halfway to smiling at Clint over the coffee mug Kate’s never been allowed to use—the Captain America one—and Clint’s ... yeah, like she’s already noticed, Clint’s looking at him like he’s never seen something so flawless and perfect in his life. It’d be disconcerting if Clint didn’t look kind of puppy-dog cute. Which he does, not just kind of, actually, he _totally does._

Clint turns to look at Kate and blinks a couple times, as if he’s still adjusting to the stunning sight of the guy across the table from him. “Hey,” he says. “This is Phil. Coulson. Agent Coulson. I don’t know. What should Kate call you?”

Phil-Coulson-Agent Coulson’s half smile remains. “Phil is fine.” And the guy—ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous— _stands up_ to offer Kate his hand to shake. “Kate Bishop, right? Nice to meet you.”  


“You know my name,” says Kate. “Why do you know my name?”

“Clint may have mentioned you once or twice,” Phil says, and Kate’s never heard Clint’s name sound quite like that, and Clint probably hasn’t much, either, judging from his expression. Oh, there is so much blackmail material surfacing here, though, again, from that dopey smile, Kate’s not sure Clint would mind all that much.

“Phil was my boss for a while,” says Clint as Phil sits back down. “Then he wasn’t. And now he’s here. But not for long. Right?”

“Not long enough, no, considering,” Phil says. “Pepper and Natasha and Captain Rogers have all contacted me.”

“Natasha? Captain Rogers?” Kate narrows her eyes at Phil. She’s still standing semi-awkwardly before them, and she could sit down, but she likes this angle better, being able to see both of them. “You’re SHIELD.”

“Do you tell her everything?” Phil asks Clint, but he looks more amused than angry.

“She’s kind of ... she hangs around with superheroes,” says Clint with a shrug. “The younger set. You’d like them. They’re spunky.”

“I’m not—that’s fair,” Kate says, sighing. “Wait, weren’t you the one who—”

“This is where I cut you off, Katie-Kate,” says Clint. “We already talked about that, and I don’t think Phil... Yeah, we already talked about that.”

“You’ve always known how to look out for me, Barton.” Phil’s smile is expanding beyond half now. Clint looks so pleased that Kate wonders if he’ll squeal out loud.

Phil gets to his feet. Clint does the same. Kate idly wonders if Phil ever tells Clint to jump and if Clint responds “How high?”

“I should be going,” Phil says, sounding apologetic. “I’m here three days.”

Clint just smiles and nods. Kate wishes she were closer enough to elbow him. Instead, she coughs loudly and widens her eyes at him slightly. Clint seems to get the message.

“Would you like to have dinner tomorrow night?” he asks Phil. “It was nice catching up but we could maybe do it some more.”

Phil nods. “I’d like that. Call me?”

“Uh, I don’t—”

“Give me your number,” Kate says brightly. “Clint’s between phones and you can get to him through me.”

“Right. OK.” Kate hands Phil her phone. He programs his number into it—presumably, Kate’s not quite peering over his shoulder, though she probably would if she could—and gives it back. “Thank you. It was—well, it’s good to see you, Clint. Nice to meet you, Kate.” Phil raises his hand in a kind of half-wave and walks out the door. As it closes, Kate looks over at Clint, who’s looking down at the floor, shuffling his feet, blushing slightly.

“So, you have a thing for authority, then?” she asks before looking around for the coffeepot. Coming up empty—and she wonders if Clint shoved things into cabinets haphazardly when he learned Phil was coming over; she doesn’t doubt it—she reaches in the fridge and grabs a soda because, hey, it’s noon, that’s not ludicrous. After enjoying the satisfying hiss of a can opening, Kate flops down onto the couch. “Nice rug,” she adds.

“I don’t—no. It’s not—we—it was only once, and we only kissed, and we said we’d talk about it later, and then he _died,_ and now he’s back, and I had to forgive him because, well, you _saw_ him, Kate, he’s just—he’s _Phil_ , and now I have to explain to him that I dated someone like, right after he died, and that there was Penny, and now we almost sort of have a date and I don’t know what to do.”

Kate blinks at Clint before patting the empty space next to her. Lucky’s knack for sensing he’s needed comes through, and as soon as Clint’s seated, the dog’s on his lap, nudging at Clint’s hand, eager to be pet. Clint complies.

“I’ve never heard you say so many words in row,” says Kate. “But, a couple things. One, you thought he was dead, of course you dated someone else. Two—actually, it was just the one. But I’m helping you get dressed for your date thing, OK? You look kind of scruffy cute right now, but he deserves your best.”

“How do you know this isn’t my best?”

“I’ve seen you in a suit, Clint.” Kate lays her hand on his arm reassuringly for a moment. “You can do better.”

“I don’t deserve him.”

“He didn’t tell you he was alive.”

“That wasn’t his fault. He tried. He told me. And I believe him.” Clint rakes his hands through his hair. Lucky looks up at him, and Clint returns to the all-important task of petting. “Fury blocked all communication channels and I wasn’t bothering to try because, you know, dead.”

“Well, he’s not dead anymore, and you aren’t, either, by some miracle or another,” says Kate. “And who knows how long that’ll last? You should go for it now before, I don’t know, hurricanes or something.”

“Hurricanes, plural?”

“Clint.”

“Kate.”

“You’re going to go out with him, OK?”

“Well, yeah, that was already established.”  


Kate smacks Clint on the arm. “I mean, you’re going to go out with him, and you’re going to make it feel like a date, and you’re going to kiss him at the end, because from what I understand, you’re a good kisser and that guy—that guy and his nice suits—he deserves it.”

“I thought you were mad about the whole ‘not actually dead’ thing,” says Clint.

“We all make mistakes. You know that better than anyone. And like you said, not his fault. Plus, his eyes.”

“Right?” Clint’s expression brightens. “He has no idea how hot he is.”

“I wouldn’t say hot, but—”

“I would,” says Clint. “I did. I would again, too.”

“So you’ll do this? You’ll take a break from your busy tracksuit mafia-brawling schedule to pursue a romantic relationship with a formerly dead guy?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess I will. Before he goes wherever Fury sends him next.” Clint leans against Kate. “You’d like him, Katie-Kate. He’s the best zombie I know.”

“And you know so many.”

“Occupational hazard.” Clint pauses. “None of my other friends have actually died and come back to life, you know. Just Phil. ‘Cause he’s special.”

“I know.”

“So... Help me find some clothes?”

“Thought you’d never ask,” says Kate, hopping to her feet and pulling Clint by the hand. “We’re going to Manhattan for this one. You have any money on your card?”

“What do you think?”

“I don’t know why I keep you around,” Kate mutters, tugging Clint toward the door.


	2. Kate the Relationship Savior

“How was it?” Kate asks when Clint walks through the door around 11. He doesn’t question her presence in his apartment. He never does anymore. And why should he? Her parents’ house sucks. It’s full of awkwardness and not much else, whereas Clint’s place has a dog and books and beer. Any sane person would prefer it.

Clint moans and slumps down onto the couch next to her. “I’m a disaster,” he says into his hands, which he’s put over his face in what Kate assumes is shame. And, OK, that’s _weird_ , because Clint’s a lot of things, and one of those things is shameless, so Kate has no idea where this is coming from.

“He was so nice about it, too,” Clint adds, and Kate wants to smack the vagueness right out of him. Instead, she tries to be polite about it.

“What happened? If I may.”

Clint snorts. “If you may? Look at you, all proper.”

“If you’re already laughing, it can’t be that bad.”

“It wasn’t that bad. It was actually kinda perfect right up till the end.” Clint takes his hands all the way off his face and reaches down to where Lucky is laying at his feet to scratch the dog’s ears. Lucky makes a contented huffing noise. “There’s this cocktail bar we used to go to near SHIELD—meat and cheese plates, custom drinks, really fancy shit.”

“Sounds like really fancy shit,” Kate says solemnly, and Clint smacks her arm.

“And it was really good, he’s doing great, but he told me he misses me and Nat and the others—mostly me and Nat, he said, ‘cause his team’s really green now and we’re pros, apparently.” Clint’s cheeks redden, and he’s all puppy cute again, and as she often does, Kate hopes Clint knows he deserves happiness. She just doesn’t want to be the one to tell him that. “So we were there for hours, just talking, then he asked me to go back to the Bus with him and meet his team, and I did, and they’re all—they’re fine.” Clint smiles faintly. “Awkward, but fine. And I know the only one who isn’t awkward, and she’s—you’d love her, she’s terrifying. Then, _then_ he asked me if I wanted to have a drink in his bunk with him, and I panicked and kind of ... ran.”

“Oh, Clint.”

“I know.”

“Oh, _Clint_.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Did you say goodbye?”

“Kind of? Like, over my shoulder, I maybe shouted it?”

“You’re right,” says Kate. “You _are_ a disaster.”

“They’ll put ‘Clint Barton: Human Disaster’ on my gravestone,” Clint says. “And Phil will leave flowers and wonder why I ran away.”

“I’m sure he understands, though, right?” Kate asks. “I mean, he’s known you for awhile. Understands the whole commitment issues thing, after Bobbi and everything.”

“He’s perfect. Of course he understands,” says Clint. “But ... He’s too much, you know? He’s too good for me.”

Kate shoves Clint. “No. No, don’t say that. He’s not. You’re a good person, Clint. Literally everyone who isn’t you knows that.”

“I’ve been trying to tell myself for a while.”

“Maybe someday it’ll stick.” Kate pats him on the shoulder. Reassuringly, she hopes. “It’ll be fine. Really. I’m sure he’ll want to see you again before he leaves. Even if it’s just to compliment your fight-or-flight instincts.”  


“Ha, ha.” Clint pauses. “You think so, though?”

“From the way he looks at you? I know so.”

“No one says ‘I know so’ in real life, Katie-Kate. No one.”

“Well, I’m not like everyone else.” Kate winks and stands up.

“And no one winks. You going home?”

“Yeah,” she says. “I’ll talk to you later, OK? Oh, Grills stopped by. Didn’t have anything to say, just wanted to hang, I think. You should go up and visit him tomorrow.”

Clint nods. “I will. Hey. Thanks.”

“For what?”

He waves his hand dismissively. “You know.”

“I do.” Kate smiles and steps out into the hallway, where she immediately pulls out her phone and taps out a text to Phil.

_Hey. I know you’re using this number for him, not me, but I wanted to tell you that he really likes you and he just freaks out sometimes because of the whole tortured past/young divorce/mind control/tracksuit mafia thing. You should give him another chance._  


She’s out of cell service till she gets back to her parents’ place, where everyone is dead asleep. Once she’s in her room, she retrieves her phone and sees two new texts, both from Phil.

_I was planning on it, but I’m glad he has you looking out for him._

Two minutes later, he’d written asking for the definition of “tracksuit mafia.” Kate shakes her head and writes back, _That’s a story for him to tell you, not me._

If she falls asleep with a smile on her face, she’s grateful that there’s no one there to see it.

Though that might be kind of nice.

Kate’s phone wakes her up around 10. She doesn’t recognize the number, but curiosity gets the better of her.

“He got me a phone yesterday,” Clint says. “I don’t think I mentioned that. It’s a StarkPhone. Stark’s tried to give me one, but this was an actual gift. Phil said he didn’t want to bother you.”

“Huh.”

“Yeah. He’s generous, right?”

“Or he just really likes the sound of your voice.”

“Sure. Whatever. Anyway, we’re getting pancakes for lunch and Phil wanted to know if you’d like to join us.”

“Where are you going?”

“Clinton Street Baking Company. Phil’s pick.”

Visions of brioche French toast dance through Kate’s head. She sighs and stretches. “I suppose that’s worth getting up for. What time?”

“Meet us at noon.”

“Us, huh?”

“Shut up,” Clint says before hanging up. Kate will say this for Phil: he’s got good taste in restaurants. And maybe men, too. Though that remains to be seen.

The way Clint and Phil are looking at each other when they sit down to eat would make a weaker girl sick. But not Kate. No, she’s focused on the French toast she’ll get to eat within half an hour, the maple butter, the caramelized bananas, the America Chavez standing—wait, _what?_

“Hey, princess,” says America, and for a moment, Kate puts aside her curiosity about what the hell America’s doing working in a cramped restaurant on the Lower East Side for some aesthetic appreciation. Because Kate’s only human, and America’s the best-looking girl she’s ever talked to. And she’s talked to _Natasha freaking Romanov_ , so that’s saying something. That’s saying a lot.

“Hey,” she says, and it comes out all breathy and stupid-sounding, and Clint’s trying to hide a smirk behind his water glass and failing miserably, and Phil’s just got that half-smile he apparently carries with him at all times. “I didn’t know you worked here.”

“Just started,” says America. “Got tired of traveling, thought I’d settle back here for a bit.” She nods to Clint. “Who’s your friend?”

“Oh! Sorry. Sorry, Phil. Phil, this is America Chavez,” Clint says. “Friend of Kate’s. One of the spunky ones I told you about.”

Phil nods and smiles at America. He does that same damn thing he did for Kate before, standing up with his hand outstretched, and America doesn’t look impressed but she’s polite enough.

“French toast for you, then,” she says to Kate. “What’ll it be for you two?”

“Pancakes,” says Clint. “For both of us. Unless—did you want something else, Phil?”

“You say his name a lot,” Kate mutters under her breath, and it’s just loud enough for the tips of Phil’s ears to go pink. Which, on a guy in his forties, is actually pretty endearing.

“Pancakes sound great,” says Phil. “And some coffee for the table?”

“Got it,” America says. Before she goes, though, she adds quietly, “It’s good to see you, princess.” Kate doesn’t blush. That would be ridiculous. Instead, she narrows her eyes at Clint. Only one of his hands is on top of the table. Same goes for Phil. Oh, God. They’re _holding hands_. Two grown men, one pushing 40, one long since past, are _holding hands_ and Kate has to know about it. Clint is officially the worst mentor ever, especially since...

“You knew,” Kate hisses at him. “You knew she worked here. This wasn’t Phil’s idea.”

Phil looks at Clint curiously. “Did you tell Kate that I wanted to come here? Because of course it was a good idea, their pancakes are borderline orgasmic—”

“I’ll show you borderline orgasmic,” Clint murmurs, and Kate assumes that no one could possibly find that hot, it’s _way_ too cheesy, but Phil’s ears are pink again and damn, maybe they’re just that right for each other.  


“But it wasn’t my idea,” says Phil. “It was definitely yours.”

“I knew it,” Kate says. “You wanted me to have to see her, and you wanted to be here when it happened. What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Me? What about you?” Clint shakes his head. “Kate, America is awesome. And you like her. So why not do something about it?”

“You’re only doing this so you don’t feel bad that you have a boyfriend now and I don’t,” Kate grumbles. Clint and Phil exchange a look. “What? You’re honestly going to tell me that’s not what he is? That’s what you are, Phil. You’re Clint’s boyfriend. You’re dating a human disaster. Congratulations.”

“I accept your congratulations,” Phil says dryly before asking Clint, “Are we dating?”

“I mean...” Clint scratches the back of his neck with his free hand. “Do you want to be? Even though you’re usually not here and I’m kind of terrible?”

“You’re not terrible. Not even kind of,” says Phil. “And yes. I do want to be.”

“Oh. OK. Cool. Great.”

“You’re the worst,” Kate says. America puts their coffee on the table.

“Barton, try not to drink it straight out of the pot,” says America. “You know he does that, right?” she asks Phil.

“Well aware,” Phil says. “I know what I’m getting into.”

America shakes her head. “They’re worse than Teddy and Billy. How are you dealing with this, princess?”

“I manage,” says Kate. “When do you get off work?”

Kate’s not sure where that came from. If she could shove the words back into her mouth and down the throat, she would. She absolutely would.

“I’m out of here at 5,” America says. “Why?”

“We’re going to see _The Book of Mormon_ ,” says Clint.

“We are?” asks Kate.

Clint nods. “Phil knows a guy.”  


“I know a guy,” Phil confirms.

“Do you want to go, too, America? I’m sure we could swing another ticket. Then Katie-Kate doesn’t have to feel like a third wheel.” Clint smiles at her in a way that he probably thinks is charming. It’s not. At least, right now, it isn’t.

America studies him for a few seconds before saying, “Sure. I’ll meet you at the theater. What time?”

“Show’s at 7, so Kate’ll meet you out front at 6:45? Good, Katie-Kate? Good.”

“Alright,” says America. “Should be right back with your food.”

Kate glares at Clint. “You don’t get to call me that anymore.”

“You should be thanking me,” Clint says.

“You’re going to be waiting a while for that,” says Kate.

“I’ve got all day,” he says cheerfully, taking a sip of coffee. “Speaking of, what’s next, Phil?”

“I think we should let Kate decide,” says Phil. “We’ve already put her through enough.”

Kate sighs. “That’s the sanest thing anyone’s said all day.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clint and Phil went to the Dead Rabbit in the Financial District (which is where I've always assumed SHIELD's Manhattan base would be). It is a truly magnificent cocktail bar. A+, would recommend if you have at least $40 on your person--it isn't cheap, but it's worth it.
> 
> Clinton Street Baking Company has Pancake Week every year, with different flavors on each day. Guys, eating in New York is kind of the best.


	3. Kate the Corruptible

Because she’s still mad at Clint, Kate decides they’re going to spend the rest of their afternoon at Bloomingdales—uniquely torturous for Clint, considering Kate _just_ dragged him to Herald Square yesterday, but he deserves it, him and his ill-conceived double date scheming. She’d feel bad for Phil, who doesn’t deserve any of her wrath, but she soon finds she doesn’t have to, because Agent Phil Coulson _loves_ shopping. Kate’s still not sure she’s seen a full-on smile from the guy, but when they pass a display of pocket squares and matching ties, Phil does a double take and zeroes in on a set in shades of silver and purple.

“You should get this, Clint,” he says decisively, and Clint’s look of horror is so perfectly _Clint_ that Kate can’t help giggling. Not laughing, not chuckling under her breath—just straight up _giggling_ , and Phil’s smile stretches past half to three-quarters. “Shouldn’t he, Kate?”

“Can’t imagine what he’d wear it with,” she says. “Although we did get you those nice dress shirts at Uniqlo yesterday.”

“You went shopping? Before dinner?” asks Phil, looking at Clint. “Just because you were going to go out with me?”

“Are you seriously trying to embarrass me just because I got you a date with a smoking hot girl?” Clint asks Kate. “Because it’s working.”

“Until yesterday, Clint, I didn’t realize you had the ability to feel shame,” says Kate. “And you should definitely get that. It would go well with the grey shirt, I think.”

“Assuming you have black pants,” Phil says. “And not cargo pants or the ones that came with your field suit.”

“Ha, ha,” says Clint. “Should I start calling you guys Statler and Waldorf?”

“Who are they?” Kate asks.

Clint puts his head in his hands. “Katie, you are not too young for Muppets. You can’t possibly be too young for Muppets.”

“For what it’s worth,” says Phil, “I find the comparison unflattering. I was under the impression you were attracted to me, not disgusted by my old age.”

“You were under the correct impression, sir,” Clint says, and Phil—there it is!—smiles all the way, and Kate would be happy to see it if it weren’t over some weird authority kink of Clint’s.

“You guys are gross,” she mutters. “Dresses now? Please?”

“You got Daddy’s card in your wallet again?” asks Clint.

“Hell yeah. If this is how he wants to validate his connection to his daughter, then I say let him. I look better that way.”

“Not close to your family, Kate?” Phil asks, and normally she’d brush that kind of question off, no matter who it was coming from, but Phil’s got this stupidly kind look on his face and she can’t stop herself from responding genuinely as they head toward the dress department.

“Not so much, no,” she says. “They’re—we’re kind of distant. We get along fine, but it’s more like they’re my roommates who happen to be blood relatives than anything else. It’s—I guess it’s one of the reasons I like hanging around the spunky kids so much.”

“I’m glad that’s caught on,” says Clint.

“And why I haven’t given up on this guy,” Kate says, jerking her thumb toward Clint. “Fake family is sometimes better than the real thing.”

Phil nods and lifts a black dress off the rack in front of them. “I tend to agree,” he says. “But I’m guessing you’d rather discuss dresses than your strained relationship with your parents. This would look phenomenal on you.” He hands Kate the dress and she steps in front of a mirror, holding it to herself as she realizes that, yeah, he’s all kinds of right about that. It’s not her usual style, not really. She isn’t a little black dress kind of girl. But this one’s different. This one’s got embroidery and side cutouts and a jagged hemline and she needs to try it on five minutes ago.

“How is your boyfriend even real?” she calls over her shoulder as she runs to the fitting room. Clint’s got this goofy smile on his face and ugh, they’re holding hands in public _again_. At least this time, Phil totally deserves to have his hand held, because damn, this is the sexiest dress she’s ever seen that wasn’t on America, and America’s clothes are really only sexy because of who’s wearing them, and this thing could be on anyone and look—

“Get out here, Katie-Kate! We want to see how corruptible you look!”

“Clint,” says Phil, and he sounds so weary, and it’s so cute that Kate kind of wants to vomit all over the dress. Instead, she throws the door of the fitting room open and strikes a pose.

“As your mentor, I’m not sure I’m supposed to say this kind of thing, but you look _fine_ ,” says Clint, and Phil rolls his eyes.

“Not the word I would’ve used, but he’s right,” he says. “You look wonderful.”

“America’s going to be calling you a lot more than ‘princess’ after she sees you in that,” says Clint.

“What does that even mean?” Kate asks. “And thanks. Both of you. But mostly Phil, since he found it and everything. I don’t know if I’ve ever picked the first dress I tried on before, but what’s even the point of trying another one?”

“That’s just it, there isn’t,” says Clint. “And we still have enough time to go to the zoo!”

“Why do you want to go to the zoo so badly?” Phil asks Clint. “If we had the time, we could go to the Bronx Zoo, but we really don’t, and Prospect Park’s not right around the corner, either. Our only real option is the Central Park Zoo, and it’s tiny. There’s not a lot to it.”

Clint mumbles something under his breath, and Phil inclines his head toward Clint’s. “What?” he asks, and his tone—it’s so _gentle_ , and Kate can’t help wondering what it’s like to have someone treat you like you’re that precious, that worth protecting. She tries really hard not to listen to Clint explaining that a zoo seems like a really nice place for what he calls “a super normal date,” but she can’t help that she sees Phil’s soft smile and hears him say, “I have one more day. We’ll go to the Bronx.” Then he clears his throat and asks if they should pick up that tie and pocket square for Clint.

“Of course we should,” Kate says. “Although it sucks that it’s not a bowtie.”

“I would like to see you in a bowtie,” Phil says thoughtfully.

“A tie is enough of a stretch,” says Clint. “But then, I have been looking at your ass in jeans the entire day. So maybe we’re both just full of surprises, wardrobe-wise.”

“All day, huh?” Phil sounds flattered and amused, mostly flattered, and Kate supposes she would be, too, if someone admitted to checking her out for hours at a time. But as far as she knows, that’s never happened before.

Maybe it’ll happen in a few hours.

Not that Kate would care or anything.

She thinks about suggesting a trip to the Lancôme counter, then decides Clint’s been through enough, especially considering the whole pocket square situation. So she reminds Clint and Phil that there’s a Magnolia Bakery right in Bloomingdales, and Clint’s eyes light up—really, they do, because Clint Barton is both a child and a human disaster—and he starts talking about purple frosting, and Phil just shakes his head and tells Kate to lead on.

“I’ll even treat,” he says. “Or, at least, SHIELD will.”

“Always bending the rules for me,” says Clint, smiling crookedly.

“And only you, darling,” Phil says dryly, and it wouldn’t be anymore eye roll inducing than it already is if he didn’t actually mean it.

He does. And for Clint’s sake, Kate’s 100 percent OK with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is Kate's [smoking hot dress](http://www1.bloomingdales.com/shop/product/free-people-dress-honeysuckle-rose?ID=1058377&CategoryID=21683#fn=BRAND%3DFree).
> 
> Also, I apologize for burying the lede on Phil wearing jeans THE ENTIRE TIME. If you want, you can go back to Chapter 2 and read both 2 and 3 while visualizing that.


	4. Kate the Brave

“You went shopping, huh?”

Kate twirls. She can’t help it. The hemline’s just so _floaty_. “Like it?”

“It looks good,” says America.

“What, I finally look like a princess and you won’t even call me that?”

America smirks. “You don’t look like a princess, princess.”

“You hate it, don’t you?”

“Oh, believe me, I don’t hate it,” she says, and she smiles that stupid smile that makes Kate feel for a second like she’s the most important, most fortunate person in the world. That feeling remains when America adds, “You look gorgeous.”

“Thank you,” says Kate. “You also—yeah, you look great, too.” America’s got this teeny tiny black dress on, with short lace sleeves and a matching hem, and Kate knows it didn’t come off a rack at Bloomingdales but that fits, America wouldn’t ever shop somewhere so...

“How would you describe Bloomingdales?” Kate asks, and America snorts.

“What kind of question is that?”

“I was just thinking, I got this dress there.”

“Congratulations.”

“I don’t—”

America holds up her hand. “I know you don’t mean anything by it.”

“And I was just thinking, you’re way too cool to shop at Bloomingdales, it’s too _something_ for you, but what is it too much of?”

“Too many princesses running around,” says America, waving down Clint and Phil, who are standing at the box office. “I’d get overwhelmed. Over-dazzled.”

“You’re hilarious,” Kate says. Phil hands her two tickets.

“You can argue over who gets the aisle,” he says. “You look lovely, America.”

“Thanks,” says America. “You look more comfortable than you did in jeans.”

“Guy does good things for a suit,” Clint says. “I’m never going to measure up to his standards.”

“You look good, too, Hawkeye,” Kate says reassuringly, patting Clint on the arm that isn’t snaked around Phil’s waist. Ugh, do they ever stop? “The pocket square’s a nice touch. Oh, and America gets the aisle. With legs like that, she should always get the aisle.”

“I make a habit not looking at the legs of anyone twenty years my junior,” says Phil.

“Yeah, well, Kate doesn’t have that problem.” Clint snickers. Kate fights off a blush—she’s above that—and falls into step slightly behind Phil and Clint, next to America.

“He’s not very subtle,” says America, speaking directly to Kate now that Phil and Clint are occupied with finding their seats and groping each other whenever possible. OK, so it’s not really groping. It’s just a lot of unnecessary touching of each other’s arms and shoulders and backs and sometimes ( _ew_ ) faces. But it’s still happening, and it’s hard to ignore. Fortunately, Kate and America end up directly in front of them, so they’ll be able to enjoy the actual show, not just the one Clint seems to love putting on so much, and Phil appears to play along with to humor him. At least he has someone to humor him now, Kate supposes.

“What do you mean?” Kate sinks into her seat, trying to decide what to do with her hand. It’s on the armrest right now, but so is America’s, and even the proximity is making her nervous. She can’t imagine how she’d feel if America interlaced their fingers or laid her hand on top of Kate’s.

“He gets a boyfriend, he decides you’re lonely like he was, he shoves you at me twice in one day, one time wearing something that’s even sexier than your Hawkeye costume. He’s like a dog: too enthusiastic, kind of annoying, but still sort of cute anyway.”

Kate tries to laugh, and she really does mean to ask what America’s talking about, because she already knows but she wants to hear America say it. Instead, she blurts out, “You think my Hawkeye costume is sexy?”

America rolls her eyes. “You know I’m not all the way straight, just like you’re not all the way straight. You really think a skintight purple bodysuit isn’t going to grab my attention?”

“But I’m—”

“Whatever you’re about to say about yourself that isn’t true, save it,” says America. “Look, you know you’re pretty. You don’t have to fake insecurity for my sake.”

Kate opens her mouth to reply but comes up empty.

“What I want to know is why you can’t do it on your own,” America continues. “I mean, if you like me, princess, you should just do something about it.” The house lights go down. “I’ve seen you kiss someone. It looked like you were good at it. If you want to, you should prove that you are.” A troupe of men in standard door-to-door Mormon garb begin walking onto the stage, and America just smiles at Kate before folding her hands in her lap and facing forward, and Kate remembers exactly why America Chavez is the only person in the world who can render her completely and totally speechless.

Apparently whoever provided Phil with four tickets to a show that sells out nearly every night is not the only guy Phil knows, because after it’s over (and it’s amazing, but that comes as no surprise to Kate, who’s seen ads for it during _The Daily Show_ for literally years now), he gets them to the front of the line at Shake Shack. They don’t even have to wait for a table, which almost feels like too much for Kate, but not after she takes her first bite. America’s about as happy as Kate’s ever seen her, tearing into her burger and trading quotes from the show with Clint. Kate can sense that she’s staring at America, and maybe in kind of a weird way. But from how America’s smiling back at her—sidelong, since Clint slumped down next to Phil and dropped his head on Phil’s shoulder before Kate even reached the table—it’s looking a lot like she doesn’t mind.

“You must have one hell of a web of connections to get four tickets on such short notice,” America says to Phil, who’s dipping a fry in his milkshake. “Also, that’s disgusting.”

“Clearly, you’ve never been to Shake Shack with someone who knows what they’re doing,” says Phil. “Try it with Kate’s.”

“Hey!” says Kate, but she can’t stop America from dragging a fry around the edge of her vanilla shake. America pops the fry in her mouth and chews, looking thoughtful.

“OK, not disgusting. Kind of delicious, actually.” She looks at Clint. “Where’d you find this guy, anyway?”

“We worked together,” says Phil.

“He was my boss,” Clint adds.

“In a manner of speaking.”

“And now he’s not, and he’s my boyfriend instead, and hopefully he doesn’t realize what an insane idea that is anytime soon.”

Phil shakes his head. “Not insane. Probably one of the better decisions I’ve made.”

“Never thought I’d see Clint Barton blush,” America says.

“It’s all I’ve seen him do since this guy showed up,” says Kate. “You going to eat all those fries?”

“Apparently not,” America says, rolling her eyes as Kate scoops up a handful of fries.

“Doesn’t it make them soggy if you put them in the shake?” Kate asks Phil.

“No, it just creates an interesting juxtaposition of textures,” says Phil.

“You’re kind of dorky,” Clint says, nuzzling Phil’s neck.

“We’re in public,” Phil reminds him.

“And you’re only here for 20 more hours,” says Clint. “So I get to nuzzle you whenever I want.”

“I think I just heard you use the word ‘nuzzle’ like that’s a thing people do,” America says.

“Welcome to my world,” says Kate. Then, because she’s feeling bold, she asks, “Do you have to work in the morning?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” America says. “But I’m off at 5 if you wanted to meet up again.”

Clint waggles his eyebrows at Kate from across the table. She kicks him in the shin and he yelps. Instead of the dirty look she’s expecting, Phil starts snickering, once again proving that he’s a pretty damn great fit for Clint.

“Sure,” says Kate. “That—yeah, that sounds good. Where are you living right now?”

“Stuy Town, but my parents have a place in Harlem. Have you ever been to Dinosaur Bar-B-Que?”

“I haven’t.”

“We’re fixing that tomorrow.” America grins. It’s beautiful. _America the Beautiful_ , Kate thinks to herself. _Oh, God, I’m the worst._ “Meet me there at 6?”

“It’s a date,” says Kate, and apparently that’s bold enough for America, who keeps on grinning and, for a fleeting second, grasps Kate’s wrist, running her thumb over the back. It’s not a goodnight kiss on the lips or even a peck on the cheek, but it’s something. It’s more than Kate’s gotten from her before. And right now—right here, in this too-loud fast food joint, with Clint straight-up _canoodling_ with his suit-wearing boyfriend across the table—it’s pretty much perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is America's [totally foxy dress](http://www.hm.com/us/product/34768?article=34768-B).
> 
>  _The Book of Mormon_ is definitely zeitgeisty enough that I don't have to explain it, but Shake Shack might not be. It's kind of a New York institution--supposedly the best local fast food joint with the most delicious burgers and shakes. Their shakes are indeed delicious, but I can't really attest to how good the burgers are, because the only time I've had one, I was so hungry that packing peanuts would've hit the spot.


	5. Kate the Not-So-Bad Kisser

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short, Clint and Phil-free chapter. Don't worry, they'll be back.

Miles, Kate supposes, set something of a high standard.

Sure, ultimately, there was no real spark between Kate and Miles. He was kind and funny and thoughtful, but he didn’t make Kate’s palms sweat or her heart skip a beat or anything else she’d read about in the Sweet Valley High books. Even so, when she _did_ feel a spark with someone—and she had since then, with both Tommy and Noh-Varr—she was also looking for that underlying sweetness Miles had so much of. With Miles, Kate didn’t have to be her cleverest self (like with Tommy) or her sexiest self (like with Noh-Varr). She just had to be plain old Kate. And that had been very nice, if a bit boring.

America, though.

With America, it doesn’t feel like a challenge to be clever or sexy or perfect. It feels like something Kate _should_ do, something Kate _will_ do, because unlike Tommy or Noh-Varr or Miles, America deserves Kate’s best self. She’s smart and she’s hot and while she might not be easily described as kind or thoughtful, she looks out for her own. And right now, with America’s hand on her elbow as they wait in the lobby of this barbeque restaurant America swears by, that’s what Kate feels like she is. And it’s a damn fine feeling.

“Hope you don’t mind getting your hands dirty, princess,” America says with the kind of grin that Clint’s been trying to accomplish for years. Idly, Kate wonders if Phil was telling the truth about not looking at America. Maybe he was just that gay.

“Do you think Phil’s one hundred percent gay?” she asks, and America snickers in that way she does that tells Kate she’s being ridiculous, but Kate doesn’t care because the hostess just called for Chavez, party of two and America’s steering her around, her hand having moved to Kate’s lower back at some point.

“I don’t know where your head is half the time,” says America. “And I can’t tell. Certainly one hundred percent gone for Barton, though.”

“They went to the zoo today,” Kate says. “ _The zoo_. Clint was talking about lemurs when they left this morning.”

“How often are you at his place, anyway?” America takes her seat opposite Kate. She skims her ankle against Kate’s, and Kate’s briefly distracted by the smoothness of America’s skin. This girl is going to destroy her.

“A few times a week,” says Kate. “Why? You jealous?”

“Of Barton? No.”

“I think you’re lying.”

“I think your ego’s getting out of control,” America says, but her cheeks have heated slightly and she’s not quite looking Kate in the eye.

“Hey.” Kate puts her hand over America’s. “It doesn’t mean anything. You know that, right? He’s, like, my brother. Or my uncle. Or my cousin. Just—not like what you’re thinking. Not at all. In any way.”

America laughs. “Not at all in any way. I can work with that.”

When their server comes over, America orders for both of them, and OK, Kate’s maybe not totally on board with that, because she has her preferences when it comes to food. And everything, really. She opens her mouth to tell America that, but America cuts her off.

“Before you say anything,” she says, “the first time I came here, I decided I didn’t want ribs because everyone gets ribs, and it’s a rookie mistake, and I didn’t want you to make it, too. You were going to order a sandwich, weren’t you?”

“No,” Kate says defiantly. America raises an eyebrow and looks down at Kate’s menu, which is opened to the sandwich options. Whoops. “Well, maybe. But—I have my own opinions, OK? I can choose things for myself.”

“Never said you couldn’t, princess,” says America. “And me, too.”

“What?”

America shakes her head and smiles slightly. “You ordered for me last night.”

“I did?”

America nods. “I didn’t say anything because I was in a good mood, but you know you would’ve been told off any other night of the week. This is why I like you. We’re the same in all the right ways.”

“I’m sorry I did that,” Kate says. She’s holding back a grin over hearing America say the words “I like you.” “I guess we’re even, then.”

“Guess we are. Unless your daddy’s card wants to cover this meal, in which case I’ll owe you again.”

“Nope. This is a date. We go Dutch.”

“A date, huh?”

“You called it that first, chica.”

“And you—” America points at Kate from across the table. “Don’t get to call me that.”

“I’m not buying your argument when you’re still playing footsie with me.”

America opens her mouth, as if she’s preparing an argument, then shakes her head, looking resigned. “Fair.”

“I won’t abuse my privilege,” says Kate with a wink.

“You really do look ridiculous when you do that,” America says.

“But in a good way, right?”

“Mm, choosing not to answer that.”

America’s right about the ribs, and Kate’s struck with the thought that she wants to kiss that smug expression right off America’s face, turn it into one of ecstasy as she—what do girls do together, anyway? Like, OK, Kate’s got the general idea. She’s had sex before. But she doesn’t quite grasp the mechanics, so to speak, of the kind of stuff she’d like to do with America. Even realizing that she wants that is daunting enough on its own. But with America being America, maybe that was always inevitable. From that sexy smugness to the surprisingly delicate way she cleans off her face after she’s absolutely demolished that rack of ribs, everything she does is at least a little bit appealing. It’s never been like that for Kate before, and she’s not quite sure what to do with it.

She does hold onto America’s hand as they leave the restaurant, though, and America laces their fingers together, and her skin—it’s nothing like a boy’s, and Kate kind of loves that. She wonders why she didn’t try this sooner, and why Clint’s had a change of heart about the whole ladies thing. She’ll have to ask him later. And later’s coming sooner than she wants, from the way America’s looking at her phone to check the time.

“I have to go in at 7 tomorrow,” she says.

“Guessing you’re not staying with your parents, then,” says Kate.

“No, I’ll go back to my place. I think this is where we part ways.” Sure enough, they’ve reached the subway station. America looks at Kate, studies her as hard as you can study someone in about two seconds, and kisses her.

It’s ... different, Kate thinks when she’s still capable of rational thought. Softer. She blames the lack of stubble before completely losing herself in America’s taste and touch, looping her arms around America’s waist as America’s wind around her neck. It’s not late enough for the streets to be deserted, but Kate doesn’t care, could literally not care less as America buries her face in Kate’s neck.

“Not so bad at this, princess,” America says. “Not so bad at all.”

“Not so bad yourself,” says Kate. “Maybe continue this when you don’t have to work at an ungodly hour?”

“It’s another date,” America promises, pecking Kate on the lips before turning and heading down into the station. “See you later, princess,” she calls over her shoulder, and Kate tries her very hardest not to grin all the way home, but from the strange looks she keeps getting, she’s guessing she’s failed.


	6. Kate the Impatient

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now it's a Kate and Clint chapter because Phil's got a job to do and America likes to keep a girl guessing. Phil will return in Chapter 8, if all goes according to plan.

“If she hasn’t called me yet, does that mean the date didn’t go as well as I thought it did?”

Clint’s sigh is so loud and so long-suffering that it sounds like a noise Kate would make. “Isn’t she working?”

“Well, yeah. But you take breaks when you work, right?”

It’s going on noon, and because Kate’s taking full advantage of this last week before she starts her new job (just an administrative assistant gig at a marketing firm, and they _don’t_ know who her dad is, thank you very much), she’s forced Clint to make the trek to Central Park so they can throw a Frisbee in Sheep Meadow and eat ice cream bars that look like Iron Man. Clint’s still bitter that there’s no Hawkeye option, but he’d never say so out loud. His crankiness is tempered by the small child who runs up to him, grasps his legs, and squeaks out a garbled pronunciation of “Hawkeye” that sounds a lot like Grills’ “Hawkguy.” Now, Clint just looks horribly smug as he and Kate stretch out on the blanket she brought from her parents’ house—ancient, covered in Captain America shields, because her dad’s a collector and she and Clint have already agreed never to introduce him to Phil—and Kate pokes and prods at the stuffed eagle Clint’s making her pay for.

“What’s America going to do with a stuffed eagle?” she’d asked earlier.

“What do girls ever do with stuffed animals?” Clint had countered. “And besides, don’t you get the joke? America? Eagles?”

“That’s really terrible, Clint.”

“It was Phil’s idea.”

“I’m never going to believe you when you say that.”

Now, Clint sits up and takes off his sunglasses to look at Kate.

“I’m not sure what you’re so worried about,” he says. “You had an awesome date with an awesome girl, an awesome girl who lives in the same city as you and is obviously interested in being awesome together.”

Kate cringes as she realizes what Clint’s getting at. “When’s Phil coming back to New York?”

“He has no idea,” says Clint. “He goes where they send him.”

“Do you know where that is right now?”

“He couldn’t tell me.”

Kate removes her own sunglasses so Clint can clearly see how good she’s getting at raising one eyebrow.

“Oh, that’s always how it’s been, didn’t you know?” Clint rubs the back of his neck. Kate can’t understand how SHIELD’s ever used him for a deep cover assignment, considering how easy he is to read. Rubbing the back of one’s neck is Clint Bartonese for “I’m uncomfortable and for some reason I don’t think you know that’s what this means.”

“Always?”

“Not just with Phil. Bobbi, too. You’re not supposed to tell anyone where you’re going, not even, you know, _the_ one.”

“Could you do it?” asks Kate.

Clint rubs more vigorously. “ _I_ could. She couldn’t.”

“Sure she loved that.”

“So much.” Clint’s expression, long gone hard, softens a bit as he adds, “With Phil, though, he’s cool with it. He plays by the rules when they’re good ones, and looks twice when they’re not.”

“As opposed to you, who looks twice even when the rule’s something like ‘Don’t jump off that building.’”

“There can be perfectly good reasons to jump off buildings.”

“Can there?”

“See my newsreel for more information.” Clint lies down and puts his sunglasses back on.

“Hey, Clint?”

“Yeah?”

“Is Phil your exception?”

“Huh?”

“You’ve never been with a guy before, have you?”

Clint smirks. “Phil’s not a guy. Phil’s a _man_.”

“Classic Clint Barton evasion technique.”

“Yes, Katherine, I’ve been with a guy before Phil. And frankly, I’m insulted that you think I’ve already, as you say, ‘been with’ Phil.” Clint uses finger quotes to emphasize his point, and Kate rolls her eyes, even though he’s not looking at her. “How easy do you think I am?”

“Well, there was that—”

“Rhetorical question.”

“It didn’t sound like it!”

“Maybe you don’t know me as well as you think you do,” says Clint. “Anyway, the answer to your question would be no, Phil is not my exception. Phil’s...” Clint pauses. “He’s more than that. Why are you making me think so hard about this? I’m already depressed enough with him being gone so soon.”

“Because it’s easier, thinking about you and Phil instead of me and America.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t overthink that, anyway,” Clint says. “Like I said, awesome date, awesome girl, awesomely into you.”

“If you say so,” says Kate, and Clint leans up to reach over and ruffle her hair.

“It’ll be fine, OK? I know America. America’s cool. You guys’ll figure it out.”

“Probably not without your help,” Kate says. “I mean, you wouldn’t have gotten with Phil without me, so...”

“That’s not verifiably true,” says Clint. “It probably would’ve happened eventually.”

“Eventually. You mean the next time he happened to come through town and try to prompt you to ask him out while you’re too busy staring into his ridiculously blue eyes?”

“Ridiculously, huh?”

“Ridiculously,” Kate says emphatically. “He’s a good catch.”

“Great catch,” agrees Clint. “Best catch.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” says Kate. “So should I call her?”

“Give her a few hours. Days, even. She’s a strong girl. She can handle herself.”

“But what if I want to handle her?”

Clint clamps his hands over his ears. “Never again, Katie. Never again.”

Kate grins and hits Clint with the eagle. “Five minute nap before I race you to the castle?”

“Make it fifteen.”


	7. Kate the Popular

“Ready to go?”

Derek’s teeth, Kate observes—not for the first time—are huge. Massive. Gargantuan. They’re also really white, unnaturally white, like maybe he pays a guy on Madison to paint them this jarring non-color twice a week. Erin, the Monday, Wednesday, and every other Friday administrative assistant Kate shares her job with, thinks Derek—a project manager, though what projects he’s managing, Kate hasn’t determined—is cute. Privately, Kate thinks that Erin’s probably never seen a kitten or a puppy or even a baby duck before, because her definition of cute is pretty damn skewed.

“5:30 already?” Kate rises to her feet and pulls her skirt down over her knees as far as it’ll go. As far as office skeeves go, Derek’s definitely not the skeeviest, but he’s apparently not immune to the appeal of Kate’s legs, either. “Where we headed?”

“Oyster bar,” says Derek. “Mermaids. Heard of it?”

Of course she has. Her dad’s been eating oysters since before it was a _nouveau riche_ thing to do. She bites back an emphatic “I hate oysters” and says instead, “I’ve been there once or twice. What’s their happy hour like?”

“My kind of girl,” Derek says, grinning. Under a blacklight, his teeth would be absolutely blinding. Kate wishes America were around to snark about them. But America is very much not around. So Kate smiles—placating, she hopes Derek has enough self-awareness to know that—and follows Derek to Sara’s office.

Now, if Sara were the one clumsily flirting with Kate, Kate might be OK with that.

“Convinced Kate to slum along with us?” Sara smiles at Kate from across her desk. Her expansive mahogany desk, covered with the kind of knickknacks that are charming and quirky, not cheap or kitschy. Sara’s a copywriter, and apparently a pretty good one, judging from the awards on the windowsill. (Her office has a _window_. That says something on its own.) She has a pixie cut, and that’s never really been Kate’s thing before, but really, until recently, _girls_ hadn’t been her thing, so she may as well keep her mind open, right? She’s a redhead—natural, looks like, judging from the eyebrows—and she’s tiny, like 5’ tiny, and she probably shops at Anthropologie, and she’s clever and kind and absolutely nothing like America.

“I don’t think oysters counts as slumming,” says Kate. Her phone makes a beeping noise, nothing urgent, and she ignores it as Sara stands and falls into step beside Kate. Derek continues collecting the others—Mark and Terry, who work in production, whatever that means, and Deena and Keith, both digital pre-press operators, and really, that’s even more meaningless to Kate—while Sara starts asking Kate how the new gig is going and is interrupted by more beeps from Kate’s phone.

“Sorry,” says Kate. “I guess I should—”

“It’s fine, Kate,” Sara says, grasping Kate’s wrist momentarily, and it would be nice if Kate wasn’t comparing the relative weakness of Sara’s grip to America’s. “You don’t have to go with us, you know. I know how weird it is, trying to make friends at work.”

“What, I’m not succeeding?”

Sara’s already let go, but it almost looks like she wants to hang on to Kate again, judging from the warmth of her smile. “You’re doing just fine. Get your phone. Someone apparently needs you. Desperately.”

“Yeah, he does,” Kate mutters when she sees it’s just a series of texts from Clint.

_kaaaaaaaatie. Phil’s coming home this weekend. dinner tomorrow?_

_if you’re not hooking up with a coworker, that is._

_or if you are. you know Phil and i have to approve of them before anything shady happens._

_especially because you should be waiting for america anyway._

_it’s only been 12 days, kate._

_she could have a really good reason._

_i don’t care how cute that writer is. no way does she have the edge on miss america._

_callllllll me, katie kate. i need to know you’re not doing something dumb._

“Oh, for fuck’s—sorry,” Kate says to Sara, who’s not even trying to hold back laughter. “He’s—my friend, he’s a human disaster. I need to call him. I’ll meet you guys there, OK?”

“It’s cool if you don’t,” says Sara. “That’s what work friends are for.”

“Thanks for being way too nice about this,” Kate says. “I’ll come along next time for sure.”

Sara waves her hand and Kate sighs as she sinks down to the floor and presses the phone to her ear (after dialing Clint’s number, which only takes one number, and Clint will never, ever know that he’s number one on Kate’s speed dial).

“What the hell is wrong with you?” she hisses into the phone when Clint answers. “I was just talking to Sara and being totally cool about it—”

Clint snorts. “Yeah, I’ve seen you be totally cool around someone you’re into. I hate to tell you this, Kate, but you’re really bad at being totally cool.”

“You don’t hate it, you relish it. And what reason could she possibly have, anyway? Twelve days, Clint! Twelve!”

“Phil let me believe he was dead for several months,” Clint says. “We all have our issues to work through.”

“It’s hard to work through issues when one of you isn’t even there,” says Kate. “And guess what?”

“I think I already know, but I get the feeling that even if I guess correctly, you’ll tell me anyway.”

“She _isn’t here_ , Clint. Hasn’t been here since we kissed. And you know who is here? Someone else. Someone cool and smart and interesting.”

“Those are really boring adjectives.”

“Yeah? Well. That’s what she is.”

“Boring?”

“No!”

Clint sighs. “Need me to come pick you up or something? I mean, technically, it’d be Phil picking you up.”

“Phil’s there and you’ve been texting me and talking to me this whole time?”

“Oh, we already said hello. And we plan on saying it some more. That’s why I asked you if you wanted dinner tomorrow, not tonight.”

“Ew. The images, Clint. They are plentiful, and they are graphic.”

“You’re welcome,” Clint says, sounding way too pleased with himself.

“Anyway, no, I can make it back to my parents’ on my own, thanks.”

“And we’ll see you for dinner tomorrow?”

“Yeah, yeah, unless I get a better offer. Call me when you’re ... not being gross.”

“We will.” Clint hangs up, and Kate drags herself to her feet and down the stairs. She’s weighing the relative benefits of Chipotle versus Tres Carnes when she feels a tap on her shoulder. More of a grip, really. She turns around.

“Hey,” says America. “Can we talk?”

There’s a lot Kate wants to say. “No,” for example. Or “Why would I talk to you?” Or “Where the hell have you been?” Or “Do you have any idea what skipping out on a girl after she’s kissed someone of the same gender for _the very first time_ can do to her self confidence?” But instead, she hears herself say, “Do you like burritos?”

“Depends,” America says. “You treating?”

“I think that’s your job, Miss AWOL,” says Kate. “Why didn’t you call me?” She pulls America by the hand toward Tres Carnes. She doesn’t know why she’s touching her. Well, she does, really. America’s just kind of begging to be touched by Kate at all times. But she doesn’t particularly deserve it right now. Although...

“I’m sorry,” America says, and she sounds it, and her eyes make her look it, and Kate’s having a really hard time staying mad at her. “Really, I am. It’s just—there was some stuff going on at home, and then I maybe kind of panicked a bit and skipped town for a week.”

“You panicked? _You_?”

“Happens to the best of us, princess,” says America. “So I came back today, and Barton told me where you were working. Congratulations, by the way.”

“Thanks. It’s fine, I have my own desk and—wait, Clint told you? You called Clint but you didn’t call me?”

“It’s been almost two weeks. I didn’t think you’d take a call from me.”

“That’s fair,” says Kate, though she would’ve.

“So I talked to him, and he told me you were getting really close to moving on, which kind of pissed me off.”

“Yes. Because you have the right to be angry at me.” They’re in line at Tres Carnes now, and Kate’s sure at least one of their fellow customers is listening, but she doesn’t particularly care.

“No, I know I don’t. But I thought you liked me, and I was hoping I could convince you that I like you, too. And I’m not panicking anymore. I’m going to stick around now. My boss is letting me take fewer hours so I can start classes—I got into NYU, did I ever tell you that? And then we’ll be pretty close to each other, and I thought—”

“America.”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up, princess,” says Kate before kissing her. America’s a little bit breathless when Kate pulls away, which Kate will pat herself on the back for later.

“This doesn’t make everything OK,” Kate says. “I hope you know that I haven’t forgiven you all the way yet. Burritos are just the beginning. That OK with you?”

“As long as you’re still the princess around here,” says America. “It was smooth that time. Sexy as hell. But don’t try it again. Capiche?”

“Capiche,” says Kate, lacing her fingers through America’s. “You should try the pork shoulder. It’s a revelation.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” America says, squeezing Kate’s hand.


	8. Kate the (Somewhat) Independent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: major canon divergence for AoS to follow because we all know the cellist isn't who Phil really wants.

“Do you think standards are healthy?” Kate asks Phil.

Phil looks at her across the coffee table. Kate’s new place in Astoria is bigger than she’d anticipated—still sub-500 square feet, granted, but it’s _hers_ , and it’s freshly furnished with probably too many pieces from a crazy IKEA run, and Clint’s grilling on the balcony so everything feels very homey, even without America there yet.

“You’re going to have to be more specific than that, I’m afraid,” he says, taking a sip of orange soda. Kate literally hadn’t believed Clint when he told her to pick it up for the mini-housewarming, saying Phil loved it. There’s something contradictory about seeing him hold the can in his hand right now, and it makes Kate want to giggle out loud, but she won’t, not when she’s attempting to have some kind of serious conversation, at least.

“It’s just—” She pauses to collect her thoughts. “OK. She’s not supposed to be over here for, like, half an hour, and for her that means 45 minutes, so I guess I can talk about it. It’s—well, I’m going to have to go back to the beginning for this to make any sense.”

“Alright. I have time.”

“So, I dated three guys before America, but the first one was Miles, and he set this ridiculous standard,” says Kate. “There were things about him that weren’t perfect, but they were hard to find. Actually, it got kind of boring. Since then, I’ve had a hard time with anyone who was less than perfect. Like, Noh-Varr had too much baggage, and Tommy was too flighty.” Kate hesitates before adding, “I haven’t figured out what America is too much of yet. Everything, maybe.” Phil laughs. He does that a lot more now that he and Clint have been together for six months or so. It’s good for both of them, Kate thinks. “But I think that’s what I want until I remember how much easier it was with Miles. Does that make sense at all?”

Phil nods. “A lot of sense, actually. And I can relate. The person I dated before Clint—Audrey—she was kind of like Miles. Essentially flawless. I got restless around that. I like things a little messy, a little rough around the edges.”

“Then you’ve certainly found what you’re looking for.”

Phil smiles. “I have. Things with Clint—they’re not always perfect. They can’t be, not with me gone and him with trouble seemingly following him wherever he goes. But I prefer that to stasis. And when things do line up—when they are perfect—there’s nothing better.”

“That’s exactly how I feel about America,” says Kate. “She’s always late. She doesn’t think about my feelings before she says things sometimes. And she gets really jealous of nothing at all. But when none of that’s getting in the way, we have a really good thing going.”

“I’m very happy for you, Kate.”

“You too.” She smiles. “I mean it, Phil. You—you’re the best thing for him. He knows that, too. Even if he doesn’t remind you enough.”

“I appreciate it,” says Phil. “And he does. Entirely too much, I’m afraid. I think he forgets that it’s not just me that’s right for him. It’s him that’s right for me. Very right.”

“True,” Kate says. “Can I ask what happened with Audrey?”

“Oh, sure,” says Phil. “We had a trip planned before I—well, you know what happened. But it wasn’t a romantic getaway. We were trying out being friends by that time, because I was interested in someone else and Portland’s not the most central location for someone working mostly out of New York. I only saw her when I was in Malibu, and I was usually pretty busy then.”

“Someone else, huh? Who was that?”

Clint comes in from the deck. “Food’s ready, and I need plates now, otherwise it’s going to be past ready and overdone. Past overdone, even.”

Phil stands, picking up a stack of plates from the coffee table as he goes. “I think you already know,” he says to Kate, handing Clint the plates. “Also, you should get that.” Kate’s about to ask him what she should get when she notices the buzzing.

“Oh, right,” she says. “There’s not a doorman and it’s weird.”

“Normal, Katie-Kate,” says Clint. “It’s normal. Hot dog or hamburger?”

“One of each.”

“That’s my girl.” Clint and Phil head out onto the deck, and Kate goes to answer the door.

“Like what you’ve done with the place, princess,” says America, pushing through and winding her arms around Kate’s neck. Kate barely has time to remind America she was just over the day before when America’s lips on hers cut off all rational thought. There’s no such thing as a quick peck when you’re kissing America Chavez. Kate can’t count the number of times she’s gotten distracted at her desk, thinking about the heady feeling she gets when America’s _on_ her like this, and she won’t attempt to, because then she might tell America, and America would have that to hold over her.

“You’re early,” says Kate, taking a breath. America smiles and leans her forehead against Kate’s.

“I haven’t seen your boys in a while,” she says. “Who else is coming?”

“Billy and Teddy should be here soon,” says Kate. “Tommy. Whoever Tommy’s dating. A couple friends from work. Skye.” Among Phil’s SHIELD cohorts, Skye’s the only one both Kate and America like being around. Ward’s boring, Fitz makes America uncomfortable when he stares at her hand holding Kate’s, Jemma’s too friendly to Kate for America’s tastes, and May—well, come to think of it, neither of them has met May.

“Hey, Phil?” she calls.

He opens the door to the balcony. “Yeah? Food’ll be ready in a second.”

“Why haven’t we met Agent May?”

Phil brings a plate in for Kate and one for America, whose exacting standards seem to have been met, judging from the satisfied look on her face as she nibbles at a veggie skewer. She sits down on Kate’s chaise and Kate follows her, leaning against her. During the IKEA expedition, America had insisted on one item and one item only: this chaise lounge with pillows that’s just big enough for both of them.

“I want to kiss you on that,” America had said, loudly enough for Phil and Clint to hear and ignore. “No, I want to make out with you on that. I want to make everyone you know jealous when I hold you on that.”

Kate pulls herself back to the present to hear Phil say, “Because she would be a bad influence.” He settles into the loveseat opposite them and scoots over slightly when Clint joins him, double-fisting hamburgers. “It’s already risky enough, you two having met most of my team. Fury probably wouldn’t be thrilled if he knew two civilians were so familiar with that many SHIELD agents.”

“We’re not exactly civilians,” America says. “I think we’ve been called by a team name once or twice.”

“And what do you mean, bad influence?” asks Kate. “If she’s good enough to drive the Bus, she should be good enough to hang out in my tiny apartment.”

“Tiny?” Clint snorts. “Have you seen the shoebox I lived in before I met you?”

“Obviously not,” says Kate. “We hadn’t met.”

“Well. It was smaller than this. You could’ve fit two and a half of it in here, probably.”

“No wonder you spent so much time in my office,” Phil says.

“I may have had an ulterior motive,” says Clint, and Kate’s hardly even disgusted when Phil puts his hand on Clint’s knee and squeezes, and Clint smiles at him. Mostly, she’s just used to it at this point. Phil’s not around much, but when he is, Clint’s ... Well, “attached” isn’t a strong enough word, really.

“You make these, Barton?” America asks. “Everything’s good.”

“Thanks.” Clint looks at America just long enough to smile and nod before turning back to Phil. “How long did you want to stay? You’ve got a hotel room in Chelsea, right?”

“Clint, you’ve been here for, like, ten minutes!” Kate says, trying not to yelp, because, _ouch_. According to things Clint’s said that she never asked to hear, nearly any social engagement is worth skipping if sex with Phil Coulson is on the table. But this is her day. And Phil clearly knows that, since he’s shaking his head and saying, “We’re not leaving till America gives us that look she gets sometimes.”

“Ah, yeah,” says Clint. “I know the one. I was joking, anyway. Wanted to see if I could make Kate look anything but thrilled when America was around. Mission accomplished.”

“You’ve always been good at meeting your objectives,” Phil says.

America mock shudders. “I really hope it’s not Billy and Teddy who get here next,” she says to Kate. “I can’t handle this much love.”

Fortunately for America—and Kate, too, really, because the atmosphere would’ve been pretty vomit inducing, had it been those two next—when the buzzer rings about ten minutes later, it’s just Kate’s coworkers. Which is fun, because it means when Skye shows up, Kate gets to watch Derek clumsily flirt with someone else who has no interest in him whatsoever. And that’s exactly what happens.

“It’s marvelous, in its own way,” Phil says a couple hours later. Derek, Erin, and Sara have come and gone—which is great, really, because seeing America see Sara is the opposite of fun for Kate—but Billy and Teddy, along with Skye, have stuck around. “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone with less self awareness.”

“Amazing, right?” asks Kate.

America slings her arms around Kate’s waist. She’s not usually this affectionate around so many people, but they’re among friends, Kate supposes, and maybe America’s still just a little bit proud that she and Kate are together.

Kate looks around. Skye’s sitting at Billy’s feet, looking up, an amused expression on her face as Billy and Teddy debate the relative merits of breakfast food versus pasta for curing hangovers. Phil and Clint aren’t talking. Phil’s the one getting coddled rather than doing the coddling, leaning into Clint’s shoulder as Clint runs his fingers through Phil’s hair. Kate sees rather than hears Clint whisper something into Phil’s ear, and judging from Phil’s smile, it was probably just as sweet as it was filthy. She really is happy for them—though, come to think of it, probably not as happy as she is for herself.

“Thanks for not tackling Sara,” she says to America.

“She’s not my type, princess,” says America.

“That’s not—”

“I know.” America rubs her nose into Kate’s hair. It’s something they’ve discussed, how much better it is to date a girl simply because of the hair. There’s so much to play with and braid and mess up. Considering they’ve only been dating a few months, Kate’s somewhat astounded at how many hours she’s spent lying opposite America, tangling her fingers through America’s hair. It’s not a small number. And it’s only getting bigger.

“How long till we can kick everyone out?” Kate asks.

“It’s your party,” says America. “Whenever you want.”

Kate hums contemplatively. “I may want to keep Clint and Phil around for a bit,” Kate says. “If only to drive them crazy. Since they could be making out or doing whatever it is they do instead.”

“By which you mean sex.”

“By which I mean sex. Thanks.”

“Anytime.” Kate feels rather than sees America’s smile. “You say that like you wouldn’t want to do something similar after they’re gone.”

“You have to get better at reading my voice, Miss America.”

“Sh. You’ll ruin the secret identity.”

“I’d call you that even if it wasn’t your codename, you know.” Kate turns slightly to kiss her, only for a second, though it’s still so distracting. “You’re Miss America. My Miss America.” America groans. “And I’m your princess.”

“I won’t tell anyone that if you won’t.”

“Oh, no,” says Kate. “I’m telling everyone.”

“I can live with that,” America says. “Can we kick them out now?”

“Gladly,” says Kate. “I’ll sound the ‘We’re going to make out now’ alarm.”

“What’s that alarm sound like?” Billy leans over to ask. “Is it shrill and awful or kind of sexy?”

“It’s mostly just me telling you to get the hell out of my apartment so I can kiss my girlfriend in peace,” says Kate.

“Message received,” says Billy.

“Loud and clear,” Teddy agrees, and the two of them stand. Kate follows suit, trying her best to ignore America’s whine of protest. She hugs them both in turn, accepting their (frankly ridiculous) air kisses but refusing to return them. They’re both laughing as they walk out the door, arm in arm.

Skye’s next to go, and if her hands linger on either Kate’s or America’s waist a second too long, well, neither of them are complaining, and for just one second, Kate thanks whatever deity releases America from her jealousy when Skye’s around. Phil’s watching the whole thing skeptically.

“I will not have either of you, under any circumstances, dating a member of my team,” he says faux sternly.

“To be fair,” says Clint, standing and stretching and pulling Phil with him, “Ward could use some loosening up.”

“If you’re suggesting we initiate a three-way with the dullest person I’ve ever met, you clearly don’t know me as well as you think you do, Hawkeye.”

“Oh, I do, Hawkeye. You know I do.” Clint grins. “That’s why we’re leaving now. We have some catching up to do of our own.”

“You know I never have to hear that,” Kate says, groaning. “It was nice to see you, Phil.”

“Always a pleasure, Kate. America.” Phil nods at both of them before allowing Clint to lead him, one hand on the small of his back, out the door.

“So, just us, then,” says Kate to absolutely nothing but empty air. “Wait, where—”

“You know I’m faster than you, princess,” America calls from Kate’s bedroom. “How fast can you be?”

“Fast as you need me.” And maybe Kate runs to her room then. If that’s the case, no one but America needs to know.

And America really, really needs to know.


	9. Epilogue: Phil the Director

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, couldn't resist getting Phlint fluff all over you at the end. Hawkeye and AOS spoilers herein. Thanks for reading!

“I warned you about drafting another sniper.”

Phil looks up from his book. Well, technically, it’s Clint’s— _The Hunt for Red October_ , battered, in paperback, expertly stolen from Clint’s apartment the last time they’d touched down before the fall of SHIELD. That was a while back. Since then, he and Clint have sent messages back and forth, but they haven’t seen each other in three months. Well, till now. Clint’s leaning against the doorframe of Phil’s bedroom, speaking at average volume, looking no worse for the wear than usual—which, from what Phil can understand, is nothing short of miraculous.

“Yeah, quit looking at my ears, I have hearing aids now, you just can’t see them.” Clint taps one, or the area where Phil assumes there is one. “They’re tiny. Clear. Ridiculously high quality. I hear better than I used to. Stark is insane, but also a genius.”

“That’s always been true.” Phil puts the book aside and stands, walking over to the door. Before either of them can say anything more, he reaches around Clint to close the door. He puts his hands on Clint’s hips and he’s pulling Clint to him, standing flush against him, bodies in contact as much as they possibly can be. Phil kisses Clint, kisses Clint like he hasn’t in far too long, maybe even since their first time. It’s needy and rough and clumsy and perfect, and Clint’s smile is a bit dazed when Phil pulls away just enough for them to talk.

“I’m OK,” Clint says. “Before you ask. It’s—well, things got a bit shot to hell, but once I knew you were OK, too, that helped.”

“How soon did you hear after it happened?”

“Nat called me as soon as her hearing dates got scheduled. I was already hiding, so I just hid more.”

“And Fury?”

“Found me eventually,” says Clint. “I didn’t make it that hard for him. He told me where you were. I mean, I already knew, but it’s the thought that counts, right?”

“He always did like you for me,” Phil says. “Don’t tell him I said so.”

“I won’t,” says Clint. “Can we sit? I feel like it’s been a while since we’ve sat.”

Phil extricates himself from Clint’s grasp—reluctantly, because it’s been a while since they’ve done anything but exchange cryptic notes—and takes his hand. Clint slumps back against Phil’s pillows and pulls Phil down next to him, slipping an arm across Phil’s shoulders as he goes.

“Technically, this is lying down, not sitting,” Phil points out.

“Semantics,” says Clint. “How are you?”

“Weird dreams. A lot of nagging self-doubt about being part of an organization with a lot of evil attached to it. Still pretty pissed at Ward. But Koenig’s a good cook and May cheats at cards and Skye’s already found Banner, so, you know, things could be worse.” Phil nuzzles against Clint’s chest. “You smell nice. Like the woods.”

“I had to come through some of those to get here,” says Clint, leaning down to kiss Phil’s forehead. “So quiet out here. Makes me not miss New York at all in any way.”

“Is Kate alright?”

“Yeah. She had some shit of her own to get through, but she’ll be here soon.” Clint pauses. “It means a lot to her, you know. Being called up like this.”

“And America?”

“Right behind her.”

“How are they? Generally.”

Clint’s arm tightens around Phil’s shoulders. “Good. Really good. Makes me—Phil. I missed you a lot. I don’t like missing people. Feels weak, you know? But you—you know. Right?”

“Oh, I know.” Phil closes his eyes and leans further into Clint. “It’s OK to need someone. God knows I need you.”

“I wish I was here.”

“They need you there.”

“I know.” Clint sighs heavily. “And Kate needs me to sublet her place now.”

That draws a laugh out of Phil, and Clint laughs, too, and soon, neither of them can help a slightly hysterical bout of laughter, because when nothing’s funny and something even remotely humorous comes up, there’s little else you can do.

“I told her to tell Stark,” says Clint when he catches his breath. “She did, and he’s covering it. I hate that I like that guy.”

“The feeling’s mutual,” Phil says. “I don’t know how the team’s going to feel about having an actual superhero on board.”

“America’s a bit testy about that word,” says Clint. “Says she’s no better than the rest of us, she just happens to have a very powerful foot.”

“That sounds like something she would say.”

“Personally, I think she just doesn’t want Kate to feel inferior.”

“Kate shouldn’t feel inferior. She’s the world’s greatest markswoman.”

“I’ll be sure to tell her that. Or you can.” Clint kisses Phil on the head again. Phil tells himself not to get used to this. Clint’s only here for a few days to help Skye with some intel on Banner, Natasha, and Sam Wilson. When Phil asked about Clint’s connections to Sam, he just mumbled “Birds of a feather” before changing the subject. So that’s something they’ll have to revisit after they’ve had sex.

Thinking of which.

“You know what we haven’t done in a while?” Phil tugs at Clint’s free arm till he’s under Clint, Clint’s elbows braced at either side of Phil’s head.

“I have some idea,” says Clint. “But you could show me, if you wanted.”

“Oh, I want,” Phil says. “But I think you already knew that.”

“Just wanted to hear you say it.”

“Hey.” Clint looks down at him, and Phil knows it’s been quite long enough. “I love you. Just—thought I’d say so, before Kate or Skye or someone I strongly suspect is an LMD comes bursting through the door without knocking.”

Clint swallows hard. “I—it’s hard for me, you know? Because there’s a lot attached to that word. And it’s heavy.” Phil nods, patient as he can be, which right now, considering Clint’s position and the way the very visible, tightly corded muscles shift in his arms, is not very patient at all. “But I love you. I think I probably always have.” He kisses Phil, and it’s softer and sweeter than the one before it, but that makes a lot of sense, somehow. Then it turns a bit filthy at the end, tongues tangled together, Clint taking his time to reacquaint himself with Phil’s mouth.

“Right,” says Phil when Clint pulls away slightly to lean his forehead against Phil’s. “Now that that’s squared away...”

“Hear you loud and clear, sir,” Clint says, grinning as he leans in again.


End file.
